A Short Madness by JS
by Teprac S
Summary: A murder occurs in town and J.D. is not sure they have the right man. Rating is for course language. Please review.
1. Chapter 1

This here is an amateur publication by an amateur writer written for and published solely for the enjoyment of fans of the television series THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (now gone to its undeserved reward), and is not intended to infringe on the copyright of CBS nor anyone else. The story is copyright 1999 by Jesse Syring. The fanzine it came from is called Four Corners a one-shot Magnificent Seven fanzine, published by Jim & Melody Rondeau, 1853 Fallbrook Ave., San Jose CA 95130-1727. The publishers do need material for their on-going western fanzine, BUFFALO WINGS; please send all submissions to them.

A SHORT MADNESS

by Jessie Syring

Mary Travis stepped out of the newspaper office with a tired sigh and locked the door. The sun had set nearly an hour earlier, but she had wanted to finish getting the paper ready to print before going to dinner. She tucked the key into a pocket in her green vest and walked toward the restaurant.

A muffled cry stopped her in her tracks. She didn't hear it again, so she walked hesitantly toward the alley a few feet ahead.

"Hello?" she called. "Is somebody there?"

A man came running out of the alley and slammed into her. She stumbled into the hitching rail, and something hit the ground near her. The man pushed past, got on a horse, and spurred it hard.

Mary caught her balance, rubbing a bruised hip. She watched the man ride away, then turned and peered into the alley.

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Chris Larabee looked up from his meal as the door of the restaurant opened with a slam. Mary staggered in, her face pale. A bloody smear stained the front of her blouse and vest. Larabee reached her in two long strides and caught her by the shoulders.

"What happened?" he demanded, his soft voice harsh with concern. "Are you okay?"

Mary was trembling violently. "I-I'm... I'm all right. But... B-Beth...'Beth Ames..." Her voice had a hysterical edge to it. "Sh-she's been... she's been..."

Larabee forced her into a chair as she began sobbing. He looked at Mrs. Huxley, the matronly woman who operated the restaurant. "Send someone for Nathan," he said, then knelt in front of the distraught woman. "Mary."

She didn't respond. He shook her. "Mary," he said more forcefully, "where's Beth now?"

"The... the alley. Near the hotel."

The older woman returned from the kitchen. "I'll take care of her now, Mister Larabee."

Larabee nodded his thanks and got to his feet. He strode outside, pausing to replace his hat, and started across the street. Vin Tanner and Ezra Standish came running toward him from the direction of the saloon.

"The Huxley boy said something happened to Missus Travis," said Ezra. "Is she all right?"

"She's not hurt," said Larabee, "but she saw something."

"What?"

"An attack of some sort."

Larabee strode toward the hotel. Ezra and Tanner followed, the latter pulling his sawed-off rifle from its holster as he went. Larabee reached the alley first.

Dim light from hotel windows made the scene even more ghastly. The woman had been young and pretty.

Now she lay in a pool of blood that glistened blackly, her head at a weird angle that exposed the gaping wound under her chin. Larabee's lips pressed into a thin line as he knelt beside the still form. Ezra gagged, and Tanner's face twisted in disgust.

Ezra coughed, covering his mouth and nostrils with a white handkerchief as he 1ooked away. "My God. Who is it?"

"The school teacher," Tanner said softly.

Larabee straightened from the corpse. "Ezra, go get the others. And bring some lanterns."

The gambler nodded and hurried away. Tanner moved to Larabee's side. "Won't be able to track the killer before sunup," he observed.

The gunslinger nodded distractedly. "Take a look around. See what you can find out. I'll get the undertaker."

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Nearly an hour passed before Larabee made his way toward the newspaper office, knowing Nathan would have taken Mary there. He walked into the small brick building, and Nathan Jackson met him in the bedroom doorway.

"She's pretty shook up," the black man said quietly. "I gave her something to help her sleep."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Sure."

Larabee took off his hat and ran his fingers through his short, sandy hair, then moved into the bedroom. Dressed in a white flannel nightgown, Mary clutched her blankets tightly to her as she stared out the window beside the bed. Still wearing her apron from the restaurant Mrs. Huxley was seated in a chair to Larabee's right, her expression suggesting he had better keep the visit short. The older woman's face was pale, but she was in control of her emotions.

"Mary?" Larabee called softly. The woman jumped at the sound of his voice. She stared at him with wide, haunted blue eyes. Larabee sat on the edge of the bed. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Mary stared down at her tightly clenched fists. "He... he killed her."

"Who killed her?"

She was quiet a moment, then gave herself a little shake that seemed to help her regain control. "I heard a ... a cry and thought someone needed help. Then a man came running out of the alley. He nearly knocked me down."

Her hands began to shake. "Then I saw Beth..."

Larabee put a comforting hand on hers. "Did you get a good look at him?"

She nodded, glanced at Nathan, then stared at her hands again. "It was a black man, "she said quietly. "Tall. Heavy set. With a mustache."

"You ever seen him before?"

Mary shook her head. At that moment, Tanner stepped through the doorway behind Nathan and caught Larabee's eyes. The former buffalo hunter jerked his head to one side, then went quietly back into the newspaper office."

"Don't worry, Mary," Larabee said reassuringly. "We'll find him."

Mary had gone back to staring out the window. Larabee looked at Nathan, concern in his eyes. "I'll stay with her tonight, Mr. Larabee," said Mrs. Huxley. "You boys worry about finding that killer."

Larabee nodded his thanks, then stood up and moved into the newspaper office. In the light from the oil lamp, Tanner's weathered features looked pale. Larabee pulled the curtain across the doorway and looked at him.

"Found this just outside the alley," Tanner said, sliding a knife wrapped in a bandanna out of the sleeve of his ragged leather jacket. "The killer must've dropped it when he ran."

Larabee carefully took the weapon from him. The blood on the broad, eleven inch blade and elkhorn hilt was sticky, nearly dry. Larabee didn't try hiding his look of distaste as he turned the weapon over in his hands. He paused when he found the initials C.L. carved in block letters on the rounded end of the antler.

L,arabee glancd at Tanner. "You know any body with the initials of C.L.?"

"Besides you?" Tanner gave a crooked smile. "I can think of three or four."

"Any of 'em black?"

Tanner shook his head.

"Don't mean much," said Nathan, joining them. "Folks come 'n go all the time. Weapons change hands." Larabee looked at the knife again, then glanced at the clock on the wall. Dawn was still several hours off. "You think you can sort out his tracks come sun-up?" he asked Tanner, who nodded. "All right. I want everyone ready to ride then."

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Still looking pale and shaken and clutching a knitted shawl around her shoulders, Mary watched the seven men secure their gear to their saddles. Tanner finished his cinch, then moved to the roped off alley to double check the observations he had made at first light.

Larabee finished tightening the cinch of his saddle and dropped the stirrup back in place. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the blonde woman watching them. As he untied his black horse and Tanner's seal brown from the hitching rail he glanced at Nathan.

"Is she all right?" he asked.

Nathan glanced at Mary. "She's still pretty shaken up," he said, "but she's strong. Give her some time. She'll recover."

Larabee nodded, then swung into the saddle and rode to meet Tanner. The others followed. The long haired man took the reins from Larabee and stepped into the saddle.

"The horse he was ridin' had a loose shoe," said Tanner. "Should be easy enough to track once we get out of town."

"Let's go," called Larabee..

The seven men rode out at a fast trot, Mary watched them go, then walked back into the newspaper office:

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They stopped at a small creek at dusk to water their horses and stretch their legs. Tanner squatted at the creek's edge some distance downstream of the others where their quarry had crossed. Then he rose and walked around, studying the tracks.

Josiah Sanchez screwed the top onto his canteen .and looked around. The country here was greener indicating the presence of more water, and trees 'grew thickly along the creek. "Seems strange a murderer'd be headed east," he said in his slow, considered way. "I'd have expected him to head for Mexico."

"Purgatory's closer than Eagle Bend," J, D. Dunne volunteered. "Riding east... there's a sheriff in Eagle Bend."

Buck Wilmington wiped stray droplets of water out of his mustache, then dried his hand on his coat. "He's not thinkin' too cearly. Mrs. Travis saw him, scared him, so he just took off runnin'."

"That's another thing;" J.D. put his hands on his hips. "The man ran into her. Why didn't he kill her, too?"

Buck glanced at Larabee, who had stiffened at the youngster's question. "Be glad he didn't, kid," he said quietly. "Going back to Eagle Bend's hard enough."

Tanner rejoined them. "Horse's been limping since it lost that shoe. He was leading it when he crossed here."

"How long ago?" asked Larabee.

Tanner shrugged, cocking his head to one side. "If we keep riding, we might catch him before he reaches Eagle Bend."

"Or we could lose his trail altogether," Ezra pointed out. "It will be dark soon, after all," the Southerner continued. "And our horses are already tired."

Buck looked at Larabee. "He's got a point."

Larabee collected his horse. "We'll push on a couple miles. I know a good place to make camp."

He mounted his horse, then turned its head east. The others followed. Buck held back for a moment, reining in near Tanner.

"We'd better keep a close eye on Chris he said. "Ever since he lost Sarah and Adam, he gets dangerous when he's in Eagle Bend."

Tanner nodded grimly. The town Larabee had once called home held only ghosts and bitter memories for the man who had lost so much there.

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It was mid-morning when they reached Eagle Bend. Larabee reined in as they neared the outskirts, and the others drew closer.

"Spread out and look around," he instructed. "Vin, you start at the livery. See if you can find the horse he was riding."

Tanner nodded and rode off followed by Josiah. Ezra and Buck started in another direction. J.D. held back a moment.

"Shouldn't we tell the sheriff?" he asked. "He could help."

Larabee's cynical half-smile left no doubts about his opinion of Eagle Bend's sheriff. The youngster wheeled his bay around and rode after Buck and Ezra. Larabee and Nathan touched their spurs to their horses and started down the road.

"Ain't too many places a black man'lI be welcomed at," Nathan observed. "If we find him and he makes a fuss, things could get ugly fast."

Larabee nodded. "I'm hoping we can find him and get him out without any trouble. We don't want the town getting stirred up."

He stopped his horse at the Sandpiper Saloon and dismounted, securing his reins to the hitching rail, Nathan only steps behind him. Larabee stepped into the saloon, glancing around.

Most of the tables were unoccupied. One customer, probably left over from the night before, snored noisily from a table near the door. Across the room, a well-dressed man relaxed in a chair while smoking a cigar, a shot of whiskey in front of him. A bored-looking bartender was polishing shot glasses and stacking them in a pyramid on the bar. Larabee strode toward the bar while Nathan hung back where he could keep watch.

"What'll it be, stranger?" asked the bartender, setting a more-or-less clean glass in front of Larabee. "Information."

The bartender promptly went back to his glasses. "You came to the wrong place for that."

Larabee leaned on the bar. "The last bartender who told me that wound up dead," he said flatly. "We're looking for a man who killed a woman two days ago in Four Corners."

"Old whore probably deserved it."

Larabee moved with the speed of a striking snake. Each fist found a handful of the bartender's shirt. He braced a foot against the bar and heaved. The bartender gave a startled yell as he was yanked, across the bar, scattering the neatly stacked glasses. He landed heavily on the floor with them.

The dandy started to stand, reaching inside his jacket. Something small flashed through the air and thudded into the table in front of him. He froze, looking up at the impassive face of Nathan and the revolver he held.

Covering the startled man, the black healer moved forward and retrieved the knife that stuck, quivering, in the table. "Just sit back down there and keep your hands where I can see them," Nathan advised quietly. "This is none of your business. We'll be moving on soon."

The stranger sat down slowly, deliberately folding his hands on the table in front of him. Nathan lowered his revolver but neither holstered it nor relaxed, his vigil.

Larabee grabbed the front of the bartender's shirt, using his knee to keep the man pinned. "Nobody deserves to die like that. Not even you," he warned in a low, dangerous voice. "Let's try this again. What do you know about the murder in Four Corners?"

"I don't know anything," the man declared, his voice hoarse because of the fists against his throat. Larabee jerked the bartender a few inches off the f1oor.

"Why should I believe you?'"

"Perhaps because its the truth?" suggested the well-dressed man.

Larabee shot a look his direction. Nathan asked, 'What business is it of yours?"

"Two things." Moving very carefully, the man pulled one side of his jacket open and reached into a vest pocket with two fingers. He produced a card and held it out toward Larabee. "I'm always interested in seeing justice done."

Nathan took the card and looked at it. "Man's a lawyer," he told Larabee, ignoring the surprised look on the stranger's face."

Larabee dropped the bartender and rose, joining Nathan. "What's the other reason you're making it your business?" he asked.

"I've been here all morning. No one else has come in."

Laraoee turned and strode toward the doors, followed by Nathan. He stepped onto the porch and stopped turning his head to his left to look at the grim faced man standing there.

"Heard you were back in town," said the sheriff, cradling his shotgun in his arms. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?"

Larabee lashed out. His fist connected solidly with the point of the sheriff's chin. Caught off guard, the sheriff staggered back and tripped on a loose board, falling flat on his back. Larabee resumed walking.

The sheriff sat up, spitting blood out of his mouth. Nathan knelt beside him, deftly moving the shotgun out of temptation's way. "Let me take a look at you," he said, tipping the sheriff's head back so he could get a good look. "You're lucky. A couple inches higher and he'd'a broke your Nose. You got off with a few loose teeth. I wouldn't bite into anything too hard for a few days."

"That son of a bitch--"

"You brought this on yourself. You could'a offered to help." Nathan stood and offered him a hand. "Was I you, 1'd take it easy the rest of the day."

"Chris!"

Larabee stopped, in the doorway of the general store and turned toward the shout. J.D. ran out of a side street and paused. He saw the fair-haired man and ran toward him. Larabee and Nathan met him halfway.

"We found him," gasped the youngster.

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Buck leaned against the wall of the boarding house and stared at the small shack some twenty feet away.

"You might as well come out," he called. "You can't stay in there forever."

"You's just gonna hang me if I come out!"

"I promise you'll get a fair trial."

The shed door opened a crack. A gun barrel emerged, spat flame, and vanished again. The bullet struck the wall several feet to Buck's right.

"I don't think he believes you," observed adjusting his sleeve of his jacket."

"You want to try talking to him?" demanded Buck, gesturing toward the shed. Ezra merely smirked and shook his head. Buck turned back to the shed. "Tell you what. Why don't you think about it for a while. We'll come back."

Buck and Ezra turned and saw Larabee, Nathan, and J.D. approaching. Larabee glanced toward the shed and asked, "You think he'll buy that?"

A broad grin split Buck's handsome face. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

He led them back toward the main street. Nothing moved for a long moment, then the door of the shed slowly opened. A battered revolver emerged, clutched by a black hand. A moon shaped face with a thick mustache followed.

Two huge fists shot out. One closed on the barrel of the pistol, wrenching it violently away. The other grabbed the black man's arm above the wrist and pulled. The man stumbled forward, and a boot to the backside sent him sprawling. He rolled over and found himself staring into the barrel of Tanner's sawed-off Winchester.

"Don't," growled the former bounty hunter as the fallen man tried to rise."

Josiah stepped forward, studying the revolver he now held. "Nice gun," he said sarcastically. Where'd you steal it?"

"I didn't steal it!" whined the man. "I didn't do nothin'."

Tanner reached down and pulled him to his feet. "You can tell it to the judge."

The others joined them. J.D. quickly searched the prisoner and stepped back. "He's got no other weapons," he declared confidently.

Buck rolled his eyes. "Save us from amateurs," he pleaded. "You really think you searched him?"

J.D. lost a little of his smile. "Well... sure."

"Kid, if you're goon a survive more than a few weeks as a sheriff, you better watch and learn, or you're gonna get killed by a prisoner you searched."

While he spoke, Buck's pat down turned up two thin-bladed knives and a filed-down belt buckle edge. He collected the weapons and moved to the side.

"Now he's unarmed, "he declared.

"What's your name?" asked Larabee.

"Luthor," mumbled the prisoner, staring at the ground.

"You got a last name?" The black man shook his head. "What were you doing in Four Comers?"

"Lookin' fer work."

Buck ran a finger along the edge of one knife. "Your line of work include killin' people?"

Luthor looked desperately around at the seven grim faces. "I didn't kill anyone!"

"Missus Travis says otherwise," drawled Ezra. "Once she identifies you, I predict it will be a very short trial."

"Ezra, take Buck and J.D. and get the horses," ordered Larabee. The three men departed. "Josiah, see if you can find a horse for him."

The big man nodded once and left. Tanner said, "Our horses are pretty beat."

"I'm not trusting our prisoner in this jail. I want him where we're the ones watching him."

Tanner raised an eyebrow and glanced at Nathan, who said, "Chris had a little run-in with the sheriff."

A faint smile crossed Tanner's face. Then he and Nathan followed Larabee and the prisoner toward the main street.

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The commotion on the street brought Mary out of the newspaper office. Crowds of people were gathering on the sidewalks and street, some moving in the direction of the saloon. She could hear angry shouts. She shut the door behind her and moved to the edge of the boardwalk.

Larabee came into view first. He warily scanned the surrounding faces and buildings for people interested in doing more than yelling threats. The others rode behind him, forming a protective circle around an older black man. A large crowd followed with an ugly rumble of threats.

They reined in at the hitching rails in front of the jail. Tanner slid off his horse, then pulled the prisoner off his mount. The others dismounted as well, staying close arid keeping their attention on the crowd that was pressing in-.

"String him up!" someone shouted.

"Give him what he's got comin'!"

J.D. went directly to the door and pushed it open. Tanner propelled the prisoner toward the jail, keeping a firm grip on him. The others formed a barrier between them and the crowd as Tanner hustled the prisoner inside.

J.D. followed and closed the door.

Tanner held the prisoner against the bars while J.D. found the keys and unlocked a cell. The hunter shoved Luthor into the cell and locked the door. He dropped the keys on the desk and hurried to the weapon rack. He grabbed a Winchester and checked that it was loaded, then headed for the back door. J.D. followed closely.

Out front, Larabee pushed his way to the center of attention. "The judge'li be here in a few days. Until then, the prisoner stays where he is."

"Give him to us," yelled someone from the rear of the mob. 'We'll give him atrial."

"We don't need the judge."

Larabee's icy stare fixed on the second speaker, a grizzled miner. "You want him, you'll have to go through us."

The miner spat a stream of tobacco juice toward Larabee's boots. "You think you kin stop all of us?"

Josiah's quiet words came from directly behind the miner's left shoulder. "We don't need to stop all of you," he pointed out."

Tanner and J.D. appeared from around the back of the jail. "I'd advise y'all to go back to your homes," said Tanner, jacking the lever on his rifle.

Under the threat of seven men more than capable of using their weapons, the crowd began dispersing. J.D. moved behind the jail again to protect the back door. The miner backed away slowly, keeping his gaze locked with Larabee's.

"We'll be back," he vowed. "You can count on it"

"I'm sure we're looking forward to your imminent return," Ezra called after his departing form.

As the last of the men yanished, "Buck let out his breath in a noisy sigh. "That was a little too close, Chris," he said slumping in to a chair on the porch.

Larabee nodded tersely. He took one last look around for potentially dangerous lingerers and saw Mary standing a dozen feet away. She craned her neck in an effort to peer into the now open door, and her face was pale.

"Is that him, Mary?" he asked.

She jumped slightly at his words, then nodded. "That's the man I saw," she confirmed quietly.

Larabee glanced after the dispersing crowd. "You'd better send for the judge. 'Tell him to come fast."

Mary nodded and, with one last nervous look toward the jail, hurried down the street toward the telegraph office. Larabee strode into the jail, leaving Buck and Josiah to stand guard on the porch.

Tanner lounged in a chair, his feet propped on the desk, the Winchester across his lap. Ezra sat on one corner of the desk, idly shuffling a deck of cards. Nathan turned away from his vigil at one of the windows, and J.D. stopped his pacing.

"Mary's sending for the judge," said Larabee. "Be at least three days before he gets here."

"Assuming he can come right away," Nathan pointed out.

Larabee nodded. "Wonderful," Ezra said mournfully. "And in the mean time, we're sitting on a powder keg."

"I want two of us here with the prisoner at all times. No one in or out unless it's one of us or the judge,"

Larabee instructed. Tanner nodded agreement. "All right. I'm going to get something to eat. I'll be back as soon as I'm done."

As he turnd to leave, J.D. called, "Chris? Can I talk to you a minute?" Larabee turned a curious look at him, and J.D. looked away in embarrassment. "I mean... outside?"

Larabee shrugged and opened the door, letting J.D. preceded him. Buck was still seated in the chair, his gun belt draped across his lap and his attention on someone sitting across the street tying a noose. Josiah was nowhere to be seen, but Larabee suspected he was prowling the vicinity. He had scarcely shut the door when J.D. turned to look at him.

"I... I don't think we got the right guy," J.D. blurted out. He gestured toward the jail. "I mean, he doesn't sound like he killed anyone to me."

"What's he supposed to be saying, J.D., 'I'm the killer'?" Buck asked sarcastically. He snorted. "He just doesn't want to get his neck stretched."

J.D turned red and looked away. Larabee said, "He's got a point, J.D."

"I know but... well, if I'd just killed someone, I would've headed south as fast as I could. He didn't." He swung on Buck, daring him to contradict that fact. "Well, he didn't."

Larabee leaned back against the wall, his hands on his hips. "Mary's pretty sure that's the man she saw."

"'But what if he isn't?" J.D. looked from Larabee to Buck and back again. "All I'm saying is he doesn't strike me as being a killer."

Buck straightened in his chair. "Tell you what, kid. Since you're so sure he's innocent, why don't you look around. If you find another suspect, be sure to let us know;"

J.D. nodded firmly. "I'll do that."

He turned and went back into the office. Larabee watched the kid go and said:; "You know, asking some questions might not be a bad idea."

Buck cocked his head back to look at him. "Don't tell me you think he's innocent, too?"

Larabee stared across the street at the man with the rope. "He just might not be as guilty as everybody thinks."


	2. Chapter 2

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Tanner stepped into the cool dark interior of the saloon, pausing a moment to let his eyes adjust. Larabee was seated at a table by himself, sipping a cup of coffee. He kept his back against the relative safety of a wall and he kept a wary eye on the other people in the saloon. Tanner found himself the target of the unfriendly gazes and grumbling of the half dozen miners and cowboys. He ignored it as he joined Larabee, and dropped into a chair. "Mrs. Travis got an answer from the judge. He's catching the stage tomorrow morning; Be here in about three days."

Larabee nodded, staring into his coffee. "Do you think we got the right man, Vin?"

Tanner shrugged. "I don't know. Seem's to be a lot of evidence."

"The same kind of evidence that's got a noose waiting for you back in Tascosa," Larabee pointed out, smiling slightly.

Tanner's own smile was ironic. "J.D.'s already looking around. I might ask some questions myself--"

A single gunshot echoed up the street. Both men were instantly on their feet and heading for the door. A quick survey of the street showed little activity. The people about were either heading for cover or pointing in the direction of the jail.

Nathan appeared across the street, holding his own revolver. Larabee gestured for him to head down that side of the street. Tanner slipped behind the saloon, moving toward the jail at a fast dog-trot. Larabee ran toward the sound of the shot, watching for any threat. He came to a halt against the side of the brick jail, keeping clear of the windows.

"Buck?" he called.

"We're okay in here," hollered the other man.

"Stay put. We'll check it out."

Tanner joined him. Larabee gestured for him to go around the back of the buildings again, then headed for the front door of the restaurant, the first refuge a shooter might have. He moved among the tables, eying the alarmed customers, but he didn't detect the smell of spent gunpowder. Tanner appeared in the kitchen door and shook his head. Both men moved outside again and went to the abandoned building on the other side of the jail.

Warped, weathered wood covered the windows and front door. Tanner paused at the back door, then backed away until he saw Larabee, snapping his fingers to get the gunfighter's attention. Larabee joined him and also saw the boards had been pried away. They took a position on each side of the door, then Tanner pushed the door open. No gunfire spat out at them.

They cautiously peered into the building. Poorly placed boards allowed too little light to come in, making the darkness seem even blacker. The men moved into the abandoned store, carefully searching. They met at the front door, empty-handed.

Joined by J.D., Nathan was conducting a similar search on the other side of the street. He came out of his third empty building and saw someone darting toward the church on the edge of town.

The gunman slipped into the church and shut the door, wiping sweat from his face. He fumbled around, searching one-handed for a lock or any sort of latch.

If a house of God is open to all sinners and, therefore, needs no locks," intoned a deep voice.

The gunman spun around, and Josiah's hand shot out to catch his wrist before he could bring his gun to bear. The big man easily took the weapon away, holding it as if it were a toy.

"I believe my friends are looking for you," said the former missionary.

Everyone but Buck and Ezra were waiting when Josiah propelled the prisoner out of the church, down the steps, and onto his face. Larabee accepted the prisoner's revolver and caught the acrid scent of burnt gun-powder. He cracked the cylinder open and confirmed the presence of a spent shell. He turned his cold stare on the prisoner.

The gunman was young, his smooth cheeks looking like they had never felt a razor. His cocky expression faded under the attention he was getting.

"You've got an hour to get out of town," Larabee said at last. "If I see you after that, I'll kill you."

Larabee turned and strode toward the jail, still carrying the youngster's pistol. Josiah clamped a firm, none too-gentle hand on the would-be-killer's shoulder.

"Sound advice, my friend," he said. "Let's see if we can find you a horse."

He gave the young man a push in the direction of the livery stable.

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J.D. crossed the street, pausing at the entrance to the alley beside the hotel. Someone had shoveled dirt over the blood: but the dirt was darker and, to his way of thinking, really didn't hide anything. He carefully edged around the soiled patch, studying the ground. The marks meant nothing to him, though.

A loud, rhythmic thumping from behind the hotel caught his attention. He cast one last look at the dark area and walked behind the hotel. A stout woman, her graying hair pulled back in a bun, had her back to him as she worked. The sleeves of her white shirt were rolled up to reveal arms well-muscled from years of hauling laundry and beating rugs. Even now she swung the rug beater with enough force to make J.D. wince.

"Mrs. Ashbury?" he called, keeping a safe distance.

She whirled around, holding the rug beater like a club. She squinted at him, then grunted in recognition and lowered the makeshift weapon.

"Is that you, Mr. Dunne?"

"Yes, ma'am." He tipped his bowler to her and stepped closer.

"You shouldn't be sneaking up on a person like that. You like to scare me to death!"

"I'm sorry. I was just... looking over the area and heard you back here." He gestured at the rugs. "Can I help you with those?"

Mrs. Ashbury didn't seem to hear his offer. She turned and struck one of the rugs, sending a cloud of dust into the air.

"Such a shame, that," she said. "I knew Beth since she was a little girl. I'd see her coming home from school every day. She always brought me flowers and such."

"Do you know why anyone might have wanted to kill her?"

"Only one reason anyone'd attack a pretty girl like that." She squinted at J.D. again. "But I reckon you're a might young to know anything about that."

"J.D. felt the heat rising in his cheeks. "Did you see anyone strange around here that night? Anyone you didn't recognize?"

Mrs. Ashbury stepped around to the other side of the rug. "I don't see so good any more. The eyes are going." She gestured toward her face, adding, "1 can't recognize my Frank until he's right up close unless he says something. 'Sides; this is a hotel. Folks come and go all the time."

J.D. couldn't hide his sigh of disappointment. "If you remember anything or hear of anything, could you let me know?"

She stopped beating the rug and stared at him. "What's bothering you, boy? You got the killer, didn't you?"

"I don't know, J.D. admitted, spreading his hands in a gesture of futility. "He just... doesn't seem like a killer."

Mrs. Ashbury nodded and raised the rug beater again. She paused before she swung it. "If you're heart's telling you he's the wrong man, you might want to talk to Nora. Up in room eleven," she added for clarification. "She entertains a lot of men. She might have seen someone strange."

"Thank you, ma'am."

J.D.'s words were lost in another cloud of dust as the woman went back to her work. He weaved around the hanging bedclothes and rugs until he reached the hotel's back door and went inside.

The hallway was dark, €and he let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting before proceeding upstairs. He didn't notice three men enter shortly after he started upstairs.

Room eleven was located at the end of the hall and in a corner. J.D. started to knock, then paused. He took off his hat and put his ear to the door. The room was quiet. He ran a hand through his dark hair and knocked loudly.

No one answered. He' knocked again, then heard a shuffling footstep and a key turning. The door opened a crack and a pretty redheaded girl not much out of her teens peered out, rubbing sleep from her eyes and holding a robe closed.

"What time is it?" she asked sleepily.

J.D. looked startled. "A-about'one o'clock."

"Come back in about four hours." She started to close the door.

"I'm here about the murder," began J.D. The woman looked startled. "Wait a minute--"

J.D.'s words were lost on the door as Nora slammed it in his face, and he heard the distinct sound of the key being turned in the lock. He started to knock again, then sighed and turned to leave. Three men blocked the corridor. J.D. took a hasty step backward, aware that the only out was the window and a long drop.

"You're asking a lot of questions around town," said the bearded man in the lead. "An' we don't like it."

"Askin' folks if they seen anyone else around that night." The second speaker's fiery red hair and accent identified him as Irish. "You know you've got the killer down in the jail."

"I'm not so sure--" began J.D.

"You don't have to be sure." The big Irishman's gesture took in himself and his two companions. "We're sure. So why don't you stop nosin' around an' casting suspicions on good folks?"

"Why? You got something to hide?" asked a new voice.

J.D. looked past the three men to see Buck standing in an open doorway. The Casariova of the Seven was wearing hastily donned trousers and his red flannel undershirt. The way he held one hand at his side and out of sight told the youngster he held his revolver ready for use if needed. The three strangers realized it, too.

Buck gave a cold half-smile. "Now why don't the three of you just mosey along and mind your own business? The Sheriff's got a job to do and you're just getting in his way."

The three men mumbled angrily but began moving a way. "One more thing," Buck called. If I hear you've been bothering him or the lady -- about anything --I'll come looking for you."

The three men departed. J.D. followed them as far as Buck and watched until they turned to go downstairs. He turned to speak, and Buck shoved him into the wall on the other side of the corridor.

"Do you know how close you just came to getting yourself killed?" demanded the older man his face only a few inches from J.D.'s nose. "If I hadn't stepped in just now, we'd probably be scraping you up out of the alley. And having to solve one killing's bad enough."

"Are you telling me to stop looking around?" J.D. asked, pushing him back a step. "That it doesn't matter that I think Luthor's innocent?"

Buck held up his empty hand. "I'm not saying that at all. I just think you gotta be more careful. Right now, you're going around like a bull on the rampage. Try a different approach. Take Nora for example. Buck draped an arm around J.D.'s shoulders and gestured with his pistol toward the end of the corridor. "If you go knocking on her door right now, she ain't gonna answer. But come back in a few hours. Maybe bring something to drink. Talk nice to her... who knows? You may get 1uckv in more ways than one."

,J.D. frowned slightly. "You think so?"

"Kid, I know so. Just give it a try." Buck turned back to the open doorway and the buxom, half-dressed blonde woman J.D. could see seated on the bed. "Only don't go gettin' yourself killed. I hate funerals," he added as he shut the door.

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The unnerving quiet from Murphy's Saloon alerted Larabee as he approached the brick structure. Light from the doorway spilled into the dark street, and several horses were tied to the hitching rails, but there was little noise. He warily scanned his surroundings as he stepped onto the porch and opened the batwing doors.

The tension in the air made the hair on the back of his neck rise. A half-dozen pairs,of eyes focused on him, their expressions unfriendly. Tanner and Josiah were occupying a table on the upper level and keeping their backs to the wall. Larabee nodded to them as he moved to the bar.

"Whiskey," he ordered. The bartender fixed him with an icy stare. The gunslinger returned it in kind, a half smile on his face. "If you don't pour that drink, I'll do it myself. And you wouldn't like that."

The bartender slammed a shot glass onto the bar and splashed barely two fingers of whiskey into it.

Larabee continued the silent challenge, and the bartender topped the glass.

"Bloody-handed bastard," said a loud voice from some where behind him.

Larabee tossed back his drink and turned to study the crowd. The accent let him quickly identify the Irishman J.D. had described, encountering earlier in the day. He strode to that table and looked down at the stranger.

"You got a problem?" he asked.

"Nothin' whoopin' you and your bully-boys wouldn't fix, "said the Irishman. "But if I tried, your friends would surely shoot me down." He pushed his chair back, keeping his hands above his waist. "And, as you can see, I don't carry a weapon."

"You want a fight, you've got it"

Larabee shrugged out of his black duster and tossed it across the bar. Then he unbuckled his gun belt and handed it to Tanner, who had come down to join him. The Irishman stood up, and Larabee stepped back in surprise.

"And so David did meet the giant Goliath," observed Josiah. Tanner just shook his head.

"This ought to be good," one of the other Irishmen said to his companions. "No man around can beat Thomas O'Malley."

The railroad man towered over Larabee by several inches. He pulled off his shirt, revealing well-developed muscles in his arms and chest. Tables were pushed back out of the way as the men circled each other.

O'Malley charged with a roar, driving Larabee back into the bar. The smaller man drove a short, hard punch to O'Malley's jaw staggering him, then he bore in. He landed two fast jabs to his opponent's ribs. The Irishman grunted, and Larabee barely avoided a punch that would have ended the fight right there had it connected. They exchanged a few punches that either didn't connect or failed to have any effect

Larabee blocked a blow from O'Malley and threw a roundhouse punch at his face, putting all his weight behind it. It never connected. Larabee's face contorted in pain as the red-haired man caught his hand in a huge fist and twisted. He rolled with the pressure, trying to avoid having his arm broken and get free. O'Malley's other fist struck a glancing blow to the ribs that left him gasping.

Still in the iron-strong grasp, Larabee twisted his left arm around his opponent's and applied pressure. O'Malley let go to avoid having his own arm broken. Larabee hooked his leg around the bigger man's leg, jabbing his spur into the man's shin to get him off balance. O'Malley bellowed in pain and Larabee used the leverage to throw him to the floor.

Swearing, the Irishman pushed himself to his knees. Larbee was on him instantly, wrapping his left arm around O'Malley's neck. He grunted in pain as O'Malley slammed an elbow into his ribcage, but only tightened his hold.

The Irishman's face began to turn red. He reached back, trying to get a grip on Larabee in an attempt to break the hold" but his struggles became weaker. Finally, Larabee leaned closer to his opponent.

"Keep fighting and I'll break your neck," he hissed.

The man ceased struggling immediately, raising his hands in submission, "I've had enough!" he said hoarsely. "You've beat me fair an' square!"

Larabee released O'Malley and backed away, still watching him warily. The defeated man shook his head to clear the cobwebs away, then got to his feet and turned to face Larabee, keeping a respectful distance.

"No man's ever bested me in a fair fight, an' I've been working the railroad ten years now," he declared. "I'd like to buy you a drink. What for you?"

"Whiskey," Larabee said, his voice strained.

The gunslinger moved back to the bar near Tanner as the bartender poured whiskey with no hesitation this time. Tanner eyed his friend in silence. The muscles in Larabee's jaw twitched, and he was pale against his black shirt. He kept his right hand cradled protectively against his chest. He accepted the shot of whiskey with his left hand and drained it quickly. Then he slung his duster over his shoulder, picked up his holster, and strode out of the saloon.

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Nathan turned up the oil lamp in his office and carefully felt the bones in Larabee's wrist and hand. Larabee stiffened with a hiss of pain as the healer gently manipulated the injured joint

"That hurt?"

"That's a damn fool question," Larabee growled through clenched teeth.

Nathan grinned. "I don't think anything's broke. But you're not gonna be able to use that hand for a while. I'll immobilize it so it'll heal faster, but that's the best I can do."

Larabee nodded, and Nathan turned toward the cabinet where he kept his supplies. They heard footsteps on the stairs outside and both men turned. Nathan drew his revolver. Larabee reached for his and winced, holding his injured limb.

"It's me," Tanner called.

Nathan put away his pistol. "Come on in." He turned a critical look on the unofficial leader of the Seven. "And I told you not to use that hand for a, while."

Tanner entered, shutting the door behind him. The tracker eyed the way Larabee was supporting his right hand in his left and looked at Nathan.

"It ain't broke," said Nathan, bringing over a small board and bandages. "But it's a hell of a sprain. Hold this right there."

Larabee held the board so it extended from the base of his fingers to several inches beyond his wrist Nathan took strips of cloth and wrapped the wrist and hand tightly. When he finished, Larabee carefully tried closing his fingers around the end of the board.

"The more you do that, the longer it's gonna take to heal," Nathan chastised.

Larabee ignored the tacit criticism. "How're things in the saloon?" he asked Tanner.

"Like a stick of dynamite with a burning fuse."

"I hoped taking that loudmouth down a few notches would calm things down some."

"It helped." Tanner slumped into a chair. "He was the loudest in the bunch. He's talking a different tune now. But he wasn't the only one talking."

There was a quiet knock on the door. Nathan opened it to reveal Mary standing there. "Is... Mr. Larabee here?" she asked, peering over Nathan's shoulder.

Larabee stood, rolling his sleeve down over the splint, "Have you heard from the judge?"

Mary nodded, holding up a piece of paper. "He sent a telegraph from Apache Springs. He'll be here on the morning stage."

Nathan sighed in relief. Larabee said, "Good. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner things'll be back to normal." He moved to Mary. "You shouldn't be out here after dark by yourself. We've got enough to worry about."

"I--I thought with the killer locked up--"

"This town's ready to explode. Go home." He looked at Tanner and Nathan. "Make sure she gets back to her place. I'm going to the jail."

He tipped his hat as he moved past her onto the balcony.

"Mr. Larabee, wait!" she called. Larabee paused at the top of the stairs and turned to look at her. "Maybe you should escort me. I mean, the office isn't that far from the jail," she added hastily.

"Suit yourself."

Larabee walked down the stairs and onto the boardwalk. He paused as he saw five mounted men riding their direction, aware that drawing his revolver from the now-repositioned holster would be awkward at best with his left hand. As they drew nearer, the lead rider caught sight of him and lifted his bowler hat, revealing fiery red hair.

"Evening, Mr. Larabee. Ma'am," O'Malley called, his tone respectful.

Larabee nodded acknowledgement, noting that the expressions on the faces of the others were far less friendly. They all kept riding, though, so Larabee and Mary continued walking.

"I heard what Mr. Dunne has been doing," said Mary. "Looking around, I mean."

"And?"

"I think it's wrong. That man is the one I saw kill Beth. I'm sure of it."

"Man's entitled to a fair trial."

"Like he gave Beth?"

Larabee swung to face her. "That kind of talk's been keeping this town stirred up for three days now. We've been doing our best to keep someone from lynching that prisoner until the judge can get here."

"I just thought--"

"Keep your thoughts to yourself," Larabee advised. "You print anything about your feelings in that paper of yours..," He shook his head. "You could be responsible for a lynching."

He turned and continued walking toward the jail. Mary hurried after him. They reached the newspaper office and she unlocked the door. Larabee entered first and made a cursory inspection while she lit a lamp. He paused on his way out the door with a final word of advice.

"Lock the door and don't let anyone in. If you've got a gun, keep it handy and don't be afraid to use it. But don't go out on the streets after dark by yours-elf."

With that, he walked out the door. Mary shut the door behind him and locked it, then pulled the curtain shut. Larabee continued up the street to the jail. The curtains on the small brick building were drawn and light escaped from around the edges. He knocked on the door.

'Who is it?"

"It's Chris."

The curtain on the door pulled back a few inches to reveal Buck's face and the revolver he held. Buck withdrew, and Larabee heard the bolt on the door being thrown back. He walked into the office.

Ezra was seated in a chair at the desk, idly shuffling a deck of cards while waiting for Buck to return to the game of cribbage his arrival had interrupted. Josiah had joined them, probably leaving the saloon shortly after the fight, and was sitting in a chair near the cells where he could watch the game and the prisoner. Buck returned to his own chair, eying his old friend.

"Hell, Chris, if you wanted to get beat up, you didn't have to go to a perfect stranger to get it done," he said. Larabee didn't waste his breath with a reply, moving to the cells to look in on the prisoner. Luthor was seated on his bunk, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His sunken, bloodshot eyes showed he hadn't slept in days.

"Judge Travis'll be here in the morning," Larabee said. "He'll probably come see you first thing." Luthor nodded miserably. "You might want to get some sleep."

"Sleep?" The man's voice broke. "How'm I supposed to sleep?"

"I could have Nathan come over, give you something--" The prisoner just shook his head miserably.

Larabee shrugged and turned to the others. "I'm going to get a few hours of sleep, then I'll be back for my watch."

"We'll be here," promised Buck, his gesture taking in EZra.

"Much as I'd rather be enjoying my own bed," the gambler said mournfully.

Larabee smiled. "You'd just be down at the saloon anyway."

"Hardly. The most exciting game all week has been here." He glanced the cribbage board disdainfully.

"And this is not exactly challenging."

Larabee left, and Buck locked the door behind him. He turned back to the others, rubbing his hands together. "How about a little stud poker?" he asked. Ezra and Josiah just stared at him. "Okay, maybe not."

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The stage rattled to a dusty stop in front of the Butterfield Stage Office shortly before noon. The door opened and a wiry man in his later years stepped out. Even as he turned to help an elderly woman and her younger companion from the coach, he was studying his surroundings. A handful of men he didn't recognize from his previous trips to Four Corners were present on the porch of the hotel across the street and on a bench in front of the stage office.

"Thank you, Judge Travis," said the elderly woman.

A smile spread across his handsome, strong-jawed face. "Certainly, madam." He looked up at the top of the coach where the driver and shotgun were shifting luggage to begin unloading. "See that my things get taken over to the hotel."

"Sure thing, Judge."

Travis flipped open his pocket watch, then put it back in his vest pocket and strode up the street toward the newspaper office. A boy of about twelve years was seated on the boardwalk, whittling on' a block of wood. Travis paused before him.

"How'd you like to earn a dollar, son?"

The boy immediately stood up, pocketing his block of wood and the quickly folded knife. "Sure, Judge." Travis raised an eyebrow. "You know who I am?"

The boy drew himself up importantly. "I've seen you around before."

"You know where to find Chris Larabee?"

"Yes, sir. He's down at the jail."

Travis took a silver dollar out of his vest pocket and flipped it to the youngster. "Tell him Judge Travis just arrived and I'll be over after I talk to Mary."

The boy caught the coin and was off in a flash. The judge smiled at his enthusiasm and continued to the Clarion News. He took a long look around, then pushed open the door.

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Larabee was sipping his coffee when someone knocked loudly on the door to the jail. He came to his feet in an instant, casting a warning look at Tanner as he moved to the door. Tanner took position in one corner where he could cover the entire room. The prisoner cowered on his bunk.

"Who is it?" Larabee called.

"Mr. Larabee?" The voice was young, high-pitct1ed. "It's me, Jacob Huxley."

Larabee moved the curtain aside to confirm the identity, then nodded at Tanner. He unlocked the door an opened it a few inches. The boy craned his heck in an effort to see inside, but Larabee blocked the view. The boy caught his disapproving gaze and cleared his throat hastily.

"Judge Travis sent me," the boy said. "He's talkin' to Mrs. Travis now. 'He'll be over when he's done."

"Thanks, son."

Larabee reached into his pocket and tossed two bits to the boy, who quickly disappeared again. Then he shut the door and looked it once more.

Judge Travis appeared half an hour later, his expression grim as Larabee admitted him to the jail. Travis looked around, taking in the shotguns close at hand the bullet hole in the wall to his left, and the drawn curtains. "Taking no chances, I see," he observed.

"Already been one attempt to kill him," said Tanner.

Travis moved to the cell holding the prisoner. "I'm Judge Orrin Travis, federal circuit court judge. What's your name?"

Luthor practically threw himself at the bars. "I didn't kill no one, Judge!"

"I'm here to find that out." He turned to Larabee and Tanner. "I want to talk to the prisoner alone." The hunter and the gunslinger walked outside, no questions asked. Travis looked at the prisoner again and said, "Why don't you tell me your side of the story."

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Travis closed the jail door on the raving prisoner and stepped onto the porch. Tanner was leaning against a porch support, one leg crossed over the other in a casual pose. Beneath his gray hat, his blue eyes constantly scanned the street. Larabee was slouched in a chair with his fingers steepled in front of him, his attention focused far away.

"How have things been here in town?" asked Travis:

Tanner glanced over his shoulder. "Pretty stirred up," he admitted. "There's a lot of lynch talk going on."

"Ah, yes. I noticed a gentleman in front of the saloon practicing his rope tying skills." The judge's lip curled in distaste. "Just as long as it stays talk. I'll probably have to conduct a bench trial anyway. I doub there are twelve people in this town who could give an honest opinion."

"We might not be having a trial," Larabee said quietly. Travis and Tanner turned to look at him as he straightened in the chair. "I'm beginning to think J.D. is right."

Tanner's expression didn't change except for the slight raising of an eyebrow. Travis considered Larabee for a long moment. He hadn't known him long but had come to trust his instincts. If Larabee wasn't certain, there were more questions to ask.

"Tell me J.D.'s theory," he said, taking a seat.

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"Help! Somebody help!"

The frantic shouting caught Tanner's attention. A well-dressed man staggered off the boardwalk in front of the bank, clutching the back of his head. Buck, in front of the newspaper office, saw him as well. He and Tanner reached the man as he sank to his knees in the middle of the street.

"What happened?" asked Buck, supporting the man.

"The bank. They've robbed the bank." The man pulled his hand away from his head. "Oh, God, I'm bleeding... "

"Stay with him," Tanner told Buck, as he drew his sawed-off carbine.

He sprinted to the bank, taking a quick cautious look through the door. A masked man paused in the back door and, fired a quick shot toward him. Tanner flinched back as the bullet threw up fragments of wood from the doorframe. Larabee, Josiah, and Nathan ran toward the bank, attracted by the-shot. Tanner gestured, for them to head for the back of the buildings. The hunter jacked the lever on his rifle and swung into the open. The robber was gone, though. Tanner trotted through the bank toward4he back door.

A handful of masked men on skittish horses milled in the open lot behind the bank. One of them fired a hasty shot at Tanner, forcing him to duck inside again. The others arrived a moment later but the riders were already heading out of town at a gallop.

"Get the horses," ordered Larabee.


	3. Chapter 3

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Larabee, J.D., and Judge Travis stood on the porch of the jail, watching the others saddle their horses and secure their gear. The black-dressed man's expression was dark, and the youngster fidgeted nervously.

"Get back here as fast as you can," said Travis. "We need all of you here when the trial starts."

"Count on it," said Buck, swinging into the saddle.

Tanner paused before stepping into the saddle, looking at Larabee. "You want one of us to stay in town and keep an eye on things?"

Larabee shook his head. "J.D. and I can handle anything that comes up. Just don't get lost out there."

Tanner nodded and mounted his own horse. He led the way out of town at a gallop. Travis said, "I'd better warn Mary about what's happening. I'll be around if you need me."

He started across the street at an angle, heading for the newspaper office. Larabee turned and went into the jail. J.D. hooked his thumbs in his gun bell and looked around uncertainly. His gaze lingered on the boardwalk across the street, then he went into the jail as well. Larabee was seated at the desk, reading a book. J.D. walked up to him, gesturing back toward the door.

"I don't know if you noticed, but our friend the hangman's gone."

"I noticed."

"Don't you think that's kind of strange? I mean, he's been there every day, watching us."

"Maybe he just got tired of sitting there."

J.D. waved that comment away. "You don't believe that any more than I do."

Larabee set the book down. "What do you want me to do, J.D.?"

"I don't know. I just..." J.D. sank into one of the other chairs. "Hell, Chris, I'm just nervous."

Larabee nodded at their prisoner. "Imagine how he feels."

Luthor had his blanket wrapped tightly around him. He stared blankly at the bars of the cell and rocked back and forth, mumbling softly to himself.

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Buck wiped the sweat from his forehead and cast a glance at the sun. Half of it had already dipped below the horizon. Buck touched his heels to the gray's sides and urged it up beside Tanner.

"We've been chasing these boys for a couple of hours now, Vin, and they haven't slowed down yet."

"If you had us after you, would you?" Nathan called from a dozen feet to the rear.

"All I'm saying is we're getting a long way from town. If Chris and J.D. need help, we're not gonna be in a position to do anything about it. You got any ideas when we'll catch these boys?"

Tanner yanked sharply on his horse's reins as it tried to bite Buck's leg. "There's an old sheep camp about an hour from here. I figure they'll hole up there for the night."

"It's gonna be dark by the time we get there," Buck pointed out. "What if they double back or decide to set an ambush for us? You got a plan for that?"

Tanner merely gave him a sidelong glance, then moved his horse away from Buck. Sighing, Buck slowed down to ride with the others.

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The solid knock on the jail door startled J.D. He dropped The Clarion News and fumbled for his pistols.

Larabee smiled and moved to the door.

"Who is it?" he called.

"Judge Travis," came the calm response.

Larabee moved the curtain aside and confirmed the identity of the visitor in the light that escaped. He unlocked the door and opened it for Travis to enter. The judge carried a basket covered with a cloth, but the odor of baked chicken and fresh bread was hard to ignore. Larabee scanned the dark street, then shut the door and locked it.

"Mary asked me to bring you some food," explained Travis, setting the basket on the desk. "There's chicken, bread; and apple pie. Enough for all three of you."

J.D.'s look of surprise turned to one of delight. He collected three plates from the stove and filled a plate for Luthor. The black man didn't seem to notice as J.D. opened the cell door and cautiously set the plate on the floor.

The young man then filled a plate for himself and began eating.

"Tell Mary thanks," said Larabee, helping himself to a piece of chicken.

"She was going to bring it herself. I convinced her that might not be a good idea."

Larabee frowned. "She'd better stay put until the others get back. This town's ready to explode."

He paused, hearing shouting and shooting in the distance. Travis said, "There are some cowboys from the James Ranch at the saloon. They're packing a pretty good load." Larabee moved to the front window again and looked out. "If they get too drunk, they might try to take your prisoner."

"Let'em come," J.D. declared confidently around a mouthful of bread. "We can take them."

"Mm." Travis flipped open his pocket watch and looked at it. "I told Marv I'd be back shnrtlv. Is there anything else you need tonight?"

Larabee shook his head. "You might as well go, Judge. "'We've got things under control'here."

"All right." Travis walked toward the door. "Hopefully the others will be back in the morning. In the meantime, I'll be around if there's any trouble."

Larabee stepped out on the porch behind him and watched until the judge reached the well-lit newspaper office. Then he returned to the jail, locking the door again.

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The cabin was a dark shadow set back ill a grove of aspens. A yellow glow showed from its one window, but no movement could be seen inside. Tanner moved his spyglass to the right he could see horses in the corral, but it was too dark to tell how many there were.

Buck squatted beside the tracker, also watching the cabin.

"Someone's home," he observed. "You think it's them?"

"Let's find out."

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Tanner and Ezra made their way quietly toward the west side of the cabin. Ezra took a position on one side of the door, his revolving rifle in hand. Tanner glanced at Buck and Josiah, positioned at the window, then kicked the door open.

Two startled cowboys reached for their own weapons, then froze as they realized they were outgunned.

Buck and Ezra relieved them of their gun belts and searched them for other weapons.

"Where're the others?" asked Tanner.

The two cowboys exchanged confused looks. "What others?"

"I hate it when they play stupid," Buck said. "The four guys who robbed the bank with you."

The taller of the two held up his hands. "Hold on a minute, here! We didn't rob no bank!"

"We haven't been near a town in nearly two weeks!" said the second man. "We're riding line for Bob Brockway!"

"They're telling the truth." Tanner and Buck turned to look at Josiah, who had joined them in the cabin. The former missionary said, "The horses in the corral are well-rested. Probably haven't been ridden all day."

"Son of a bitch," growled Buck.

"They doubled back on us somewhere," Tanner said grimly.

"If that's true, we'd better get back to town;" said Nathan.

The five men left the cabin.

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Mary rubbed her eyes tiredly and sat up. The bedroom was just starting to get light as the sun came up. She got to her feet, pulling a robe around her shoulders, and went into the newspaper office. Her father-in-law was sitting in a chair, staring out the window. He held a double-barrel shotgun across his lap.

"Orrin?" Mary called gently. He looked up at her call. "Have you been here all night?"

"Most of it." He rubbed his own tired eyes. "Doing my part to protect the prisoner, I guess."

"Why don't you get some sleep?" she asked: "Maybe the others will be back today."

Travis waved off her suggestion. "There'll be time to rest later. But I could use a hot breakfast and a bath."

Mary smiled. "I'll make some food."

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J.D. jerked awake with a start and looked around guiltily. Larabee was seated on the edge of the desk, sipping a cup of coffee. When he saw J.D. straightening in his chair he grinned.

"Morning," Chris called. "Have a nice nap?"

The younger man returned the grin somewhat sheepishly. "I guess. How long was I asleep?"

"About four hours. Coffee?"

J.D. accepted a cup of the hot liquid and sipped it. "How can you drink that?" he asked, grimacing at the taste. He rotated his head and neck, wincing slightly at the stiffness there. "You should've woke me up," he said reproachfully.

"No need. Things were quiet"

"Yeah, well, you look like hell. I could've kept watch while you slept."

Larabee walked to the door and looked outside. "Why don't you go get some breakfast for the three of us while things are still quiet? Maybe the others'll be back by then."

"Right."

J.D. stood up and resettled his clothing and guns. Larabee opened the door and J.D. walked outside, hearing the door close and lock behind him.

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Travis glanced over his shoulder as he heard the door behind him open. "I paid for a private bath, my friend," he announced. "You'll have to wait until I'm finished."

"I'll just wait right here, Judge."

Something about that harsh, somewhat muffled voice caused Travis to twist around in the tub, getting-a good look at the newcomer. Baggy clothes and a slicker hid his general shape, and a hat and brightly colored bandanna concealed most of his face. The pistol he held was cocked.

"I'm a federal judge. If you kill me--"

"Save the speech, Judge. I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm just here to make sure you don't go anywhere for a while." The masked man walked around the tub to stand in front of Travis. "I reckon you're not so tough away from your hired guns."

He eased the hammer down on his pistol. Travis glanced to his right, where his clothing and a towel sat on a chair, then looked at the masked man.

"The bank robbery was staged, wasn't it? Just a ruse to get as many guns out of town as possible. It's really the prisoner you want."

"We just want our justice a little faster than you do, Judge. You understand." The gunman leaned against the wall, folding his arms. "So just go on with your bath. By the time you're done, our business should be finished."

Travis reached into the tub for the bar of soap. "If you lynch that man, you're committing murder."

"We're only saving you some work."

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J.D. stepped out of the restaurant, balancing a tray of food and coffee in one hand as he pulled the door shut. He secured his grip and turned, scanning the street as had become his habit since they had brought Luthor in.

No one was in sight. Even for the early morning hour, things were unnaturally quiet. Looking down the street, J.D. could see no one. Even Virgil Watson, normally sweeping the boardwalk in front of his store at this time, was absent.

J.D. shifted his hold on the tray again, this time so he had one hand free to get to one of his twin revolvers if necessary. He moved toward the jail, keeping his back to the restaurant so he could watch the street. He stepped off the boardwalk between the restaurant and jail and froze as something hard jabbed into the small of his back.

"That's far enough, boy," said a gravelly, oddly muffled voice. "Turn around nice and easy."

The pressure eased from J.D.'s back as he heard someone shuffle back a few feet. The young man turned slowly, his attention fully on the double-barrel shotgun aimed at his belt buckle. The masked man holding it gestured for him to step into the alley with the half-dozen other masked men there. Swallowing nervously, J.D. complied.

A man wearing a gray duster and a crude mask made from a burlap sack with- eye holes cut in it quickly removed J.D.'s guns, tucking them into the front of his own trousers. The man with the shotgun and the others crowded closer.

"Now you're gonna get us into that jail," said the leader, "or I'm gonna spread you all over that wall. Savvy?" J.D. nodded mutely. The armed men moved below the levels of the windows and stood on each side of the door. Prodded by the shotgun, J.D. swallowed nervously and knocked.

"Who is it?" called Larabee.

"It's J.D." Did his voice really squeak as much as he thought it did? He cleared his throat. "I've got breakfast."

There was along silence, then J.D. heard the lock turn. One masked man grabbed his collar and jerked him side as the others threw open the door and rushed inside.

Larabee had no time to react as two men rushed him. They shoved him face-first into a wall, ignoring his hiss of pain as it jarred his injured wrist, and restrained him while they took his revolver. A third man found the keys and opened the cell. Two men dragged a kicking and screaming Luthor outside. J.D. was brought inside and pushed into a cell. They propelled Larabee into the cell as well and locked the door.

The shotgun-wielding man set their weapons and the keys on the desk. "Your friends'll let you out when hey get back. You'd best forget about all this."

Larabee lunged against the bars. "You'd better hope I never get out of here," he growled.

His words were lost on the closing door. J.D. sank onto the cot, not quite trusting his legs to hold him and afraid of the white-hot fury he saw in Larabee's eyes. Larabee stalked around the cell like a caged animal, trying to ignore the fading screams from Luthor. The shouting ended abruptly. Larabee stopped his pacing, staring at the wall.

"Shit," he said, hardly more than a whisper.

"You mean--"

Larabee nodded, lowering his gaze to the floor. All color drained from J.D.'s face. He threw himself from the bunk, hitting the floor just before he vomited. The older man mercifully pretended not to notice his distress.

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Travis heard the commotion outside. The gunman was looking out the curtained window, so Travis reached for his towel. The masked man turned to look at him, raising his pistol. Travis shut his eyes tight, wiping at them.

"I've got soap in my eyes," he explained. "Do you mind?"

"Go ahead."

Travis opened his eyes a slit and reached for the towel. Too late the gunman realized it hid a shotgun. Travis fired at a range of less than ten feet. The blast threw the body of the gunman out the window in a shower of glass, taking one curtain with him.

Travis stood up, still holding the shotgun, and reached for the towel. The door started to open, and the judge swung to face it, shotgun at the ready.

"Hold your fire, your honor," called a voice with a distinctly Irish accent. "I'm here to help you."

"Show yourself. But keep your hands where I can see them."

Two hands appeared in the doorway, both empty, then a big, red-haired man stepped into the room. "I saw the mob gathering and thought you and Mr. Larabee could use a hand," he explained. He glanced at the corpse.

"But you seem to have a handle on things here."

Travis hesitated, then made a quick decision. He handed the Irishman his shotgun and reached for his' clothes. "Are, the others all right?"

O'Malley shook his head. "They captured the young sheriff a few minutes before I came in here."

Travis dressed quickly, not bothering to dry himself. "Get to the jail and see if you can help them. I'll be along in a minute. Keep that shot gun handy, you may need it."

O'Malley headed out of the bath house, pausing to look carefully around. The lynch mob had moved out of sight, although he could still hear them up the street to his left in the direction of the livery stable. The streets were otherwise empty.

O'Malley trotted toward the jail. The shouting from the mob came to a sudden end. The big man winced, whispering, "God have mercy on his soul." Then he was at the jail. He tried to peer around the edge of the curtain but couldn't determine if there was anyone in the office or not.

"Saints preserve me," he declared, kicking the door in.

Larabee and J.D. spun around as the door crashed inward. O'Malley stepped into the room, taking a quick look around. He scooped the keys off the desk and tossed them to Larabee.

"You owe me a drink, Mr. Larabee," he declared, as the cell door opened.

Larabee and J.D. rushed to the desk and grabbed their gun belts. They each took a scattergun from the rack and headed outside. Judge Travis was stalking across the street toward them. He accepted his shotgun from O'Malley and broke it open, putting another shell into the one empty barrel.

"Spread out," he ordered. "Pick up anyone you've had trouble with in the last week and bring them in."

O'Malley looked at the judge. "I'd like to help out if I can, Your Honor. I know some of the troublemakers." Travis gave him a long look, then said, "All right. Get a gun from the office. And if anyone gives you trouble, shoot first"

"Don't worry about that," Larabee said in a low and dangerous voice.

Without a backward glance, he headed for the livery stable. The judge headed down the street in the direction of Murphy's Saloon. J.D. hesitated, then went the other direction.

Larabee reached the livery stable and stopped, his lips compressed into a thin line. Luthor's body swung limply from the crossbar over the corral gate. No one was in sight. Larabee started forward then swung around when he heard horses approaching at a gallop. It was Tanner and the others. They drew up sharply at the sight of him and the dead man.

"Aw, hell," said Buck, summing up everyone's feelings.

"Josiah you and Nathan see to this," instructed Larabee. "The rest of you spread out. Bring in anyone you find."

Larabee, Tanner, Ezra, and Buck each went a different direction. Nathan and Josiah dismounted and went to the corral gate. Josiah shook his head sadly.

"May God forgive them," he said.

Nathan drew one of his knives and moved to the gate post where the rope was tied. Josiah reached up and took a hold of the corpse while the black healer severed the rope.

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J.D. made his way down the street, looking in each building, he passed. He had worked his way from the jail to the church on the far end of town and now went down the other side-of the street. He reached Watson's store and paused, hearing strange thumping noises. He eased the hammers back on the shotgun and went through the door.

At first the store seemed empty. Then he heard a thump from behind the counter. Virgil Watson was seated on the floor behind the counter, bound securely hand and foot and gagged. His face and balding head were flushed red with indignation.

J.D. set the shotgun down and moved to help the older man. He puled the gag away and dug out a penknife to cut the ropes. As soon as his hands were free, the tall man reached up to touch a lump on the back of his head.

"I saw them when I came to open," he said. "They jumped me before I could do anything."

"Yeah, well, they surprised all of us," said J.D. "Are you all right?"

"Don't worry about me, son. Just stop them."

"It's too late," J.D. said quietly, heading for the door.

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Travis walked into Murphy's Saloon, letting his shotgun lead the way. This early, few people were present. The sallow-faced bartender took one look at him and ducked behind the heavy bar, trusting its solid protection if shooting started. Travis ignored him.

"You, you, and you," he said, indicating two cowboys and a miner seated at different tables. "I want to have a word with you. Leave your guns there," he added.

The three men rose slowly, unbuckling their gunbelts and setting them on the tables. Travis stepped aside and indicated they should lead the way.

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Larabee stepped out from between two buildings and nodded to Buck, who was escorting two railroad workers toward the jail. He crossed the street to the newspaper office and knocked on the door.

"Mary?" he called. There was no answer. "Mary, are you in there?"

She didn't answer. Standing to one side, Larabee tried the door and found it unlocked. He pulled it open and looked quickly inside. No one was in the office. Larabee set the shotgun on a letter tray and awkwardly drew his revolver as he made his way to the back room.

"Mary?"

She was seated on the bed, pointing a derringer at him. Even with one hand supporting the other, she was visibly shaking. Larabee holstered his gun and stepped forward, moving out of the line of fire.

"Works better if you cock it first," he observed, taking the derringer from her and slipping it into his waistband.

"The prisoner?" she asked, her voice shaky.

"It's over," was all he said.

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Josiah, Buck, Tanner, and J.D. sat on the porch of Murphy's saloon, watching the activity on the street. "It just isn't right," said J.D. He gestured toward the people he saw. "They're acting like nothing even happened."

"As far as most of them're concerned, nothing did happen," said Buck. "Justice has been done."

"Some justice." He looked at Buck. "The judge questioned every man in town and couldn't find out who did it."

"Would you confess? Lynching's the same as murder."

"So they got away with it."

Josiah sipped his beer. "They'll face judgment eventually, J.D. All men do."

"That doesn't make me feel any better."

Buck's attention turned to the street where the dark form of Larabee strode purposefully toward them. The others noticed him, too. The gunslinger joined them on the porch.

"I just got a telegram from the judge," he said. "The sheriff in Sweetwater arrested a miner for assaulting a woman last night." He accepted the shot glass Tanner pushed toward him. "The man confessed to killing Beth Ames."

"Son of a bitch," Buck said quietly.

The end

Jessica Lynn Syring, 40, died March 22nd 2007 at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minnesota from an undetermined illness. She is sorely missed and posting her stories, with her families permission, is My way of seeing that her creativity continues to live. Miss you my friend.

Jennye Jackman 2008


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